Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Seven weeks and one theatrical debut until the wedding
I t was two bronchospasms and one very abridged production of Romeo and Juliet later that Phoebe found herself bowling through Bath in the Carlisle family chaise.
‘We’ll be just a little late, perfect for avoiding any pre-show conversation,’ Lady Aurelia chattered, as though they really were the best of friends, engaged on an enjoyable theatrical excursion.
Phoebe gazed at her pale satin evening gown, affixed with ribbons, lace, and a matching hair piece, together with elbow-length cream gloves. She looked the perfect young debutante, as she returned Phoebe’s frank gaze.
By contrast, Phoebe had left Josephine abed with a bronchial cough that had concerned Dr Cox enough to prescribe cook’s best chicken broth and drops of laudanum, twice a day. The laudanum had soothed her, but Phoebe was concerned to see her sister without interest for a book and suspected the lethargy had more to do with the medicine, than her weakness. This development had also vexed Matilda, who seemed determined to persuade their aunt she could enjoy herself immensely on any excursion, no matter which sister was on her deathbed.
All of which had made tonight’s preparation twice as challenging.
‘How lovely it is to see you looking so well, Miss Fairfax,’ Aurelia chattered on. ‘Or Mrs Mary Smith, as I should call you now!’
She paused to tinkle with laughter as Phoebe arranged her black velvet cloak over the pretty damson silk she’d borrowed from Sophie, persuaded it was far more a widow-like ensemble than anything else she owned.
‘After your very unfortunate incident at the picnic, I admit I was quite concerned about your health, but your aunt assured my mother you have the constitution of an ox! In truth, I must own to having had the headache myself the following morning, but really, it paled next to your plight – a bolting horse and a dramatic rescue from the canal? Whatever next? Of course, we were all most relieved to know your sister was well, and I wouldn’t hear of anyone saying how ridiculous you looked when you emerged, your hair utterly ruined and your dress clinging in that … most unbecoming way.’ She patted Phoebe’s arm. ‘I also made sure to tell everyone that it didn’t matter one jot that you abandoned me, as Viscount Damerel ensured I was quite safe with Captain Elliott and his officers, who are always most attentive.’ She smiled smugly.
‘I’d be wary of too many close attentions if I were you, Aurelia,’ Phoebe returned drily. ‘They can result in little spots of bother .’
The smile was wiped instantly.
‘Oh, how droll you are!’ Aurelia recovered, after a beat. ‘I can see why the viscount finds you so entertaining!’
Phoebe regarded Aurelia impassively while her thoughts whirled. She was quite used to being considered a foolish, hare-brained simpleton as far as the viscount was concerned, a drunk, even. Entertaining was something entirely new.
‘Anyway, the viscount called on me the following day, which was kind; so gallant and noble to be thinking of me while you were the one careering dangerously through the crowds of people, and creating such chaos! But, of course, the greater show of gallantry has to be his complete abdication of concern for his own safety when he dived into those canal waters, little knowing what they might contain. I’m sure my friends talk of little else.’
‘Well, he knew Matilda and I were in there for a start!’ Phoebe returned scathingly. ‘And he didn’t dive, he jumped – anyone would know it would be asking for the headache, diving into that canal. Finally, I’m certain the viscount would find me rather less entertaining , if he were to learn the full extent to which you entertain yourself!’
She lay her head back against the seat, satisfied to see Aurelia looking more startled than she ever had before. She might not understand the full intricacies of Aurelia’s situation, but she understood enough to know it could be a far more scandalous problem than her own.
‘He’d never believe you!’ Aurelia returned, after a beat.
‘He might once your corsets begin to pop!’
‘It won’t get that far!’ Aurelia retorted.
Yet her tone was far from confident.
‘Oh, have no fear,’ Phoebe exhaled, with a quiet air of triumph. ‘I have every interest in drawing this matter to a close tonight, and then I would thank you to leave all the Fairfaxes well alone, for as long as you’re in Bath.’
‘With pleasure!’ Aurelia snapped.
* * *
It turned out the Carlisle family box at the Bath Theatre Royal was so close to the stage that, for the first half of the production, Phoebe was unexpectedly spellbound. She’d spent countless happy hours directing Fairfax Theatrical Company, but this was a theatre of dreams, with a lavishly costumed cast, performing one of her favourite Shakespeare comedies, Much Ado About Nothing . It was exactly the type of production in which she’d imagined herself, had she made it to London.
She had to give Aurelia some credit for forethought, too. Their late arrival, combined with the darkness of the auditorium, ensured that no one could identify exactly who was accompanying Lady Aurelia Carlisle. And anyone who did look their way could be assured she was suitably chaperoned. Phoebe stole several glances at her wily adversary during the opening scenes, knowing that despite her newly established upper hand, she should not be underestimated.
‘I think Beatrice a most dull character, don’t you?’ Aurelia whispered as the audience applauded. ‘Teasing poor Benedict when he’s just returned from war. Far better she just secure a husband she doesn’t detest and get on with things. All that witty banter is quite exhausting!’
‘Exhausting or exhilarating? Perhaps it shows they are well matched?’ Phoebe countered.
She knew Aurelia was only describing the strategy she was employing herself, yet there was a wistful note in her voice she hadn’t noticed before.
‘Always such a bluestocking!’ she smirked. ‘Anyway, it’s all just Shakespearean foreplay, neither of them care a jot really!’
Phoebe frowned, certain Aurelia was playing a part herself tonight and wondered if the mood would loosen her tongue.
‘How did your situation come to be?’ she whispered. ‘Did something happen with the captain?’
A smile flickered across Aurelia's face.
‘Now wouldn’t that be something?’ she murmured. ‘The captain is nearly as handsome as the viscount, don't you think? Such fine shoulders, both of them…’
A faded memory of the golden viscount, silhouetted in front of his library fire, crept into Phoebe’s mind. She flushed faintly, as Aurelia leaned forward.
‘But as for his involvement,’ she glinted. ‘In truth, I…’
‘In truth, I am not sure whether I’m more intrigued by your hushed conversation, or the fact you’re attending the theatre in company your mother has decried,’ a low tone drawled, making them both draw apart sharply.
Phoebe inhaled, as Aurelia spun with the ease of a seasoned actress.
‘Why, Viscount Damerel!’ She smiled coquettishly, fluttering her fan. ‘What a pleasure to see you! I thought you considered Shakespeare’s comedies trop ennuyeux !’
‘On the contrary,’ the viscount returned, stepping into the small theatre box as Phoebe shrank back and prayed for divine intervention.
‘I find the war of words between Benedict and Beatrice most edifying . “Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps” ,’ he murmured with a raised eyebrow.
‘Oh, you are so droll!’ Aurelia tittered, as Phoebe silently berated herself for ever thinking she could go anywhere with Aurelia, without the viscount making an appearance.
‘What say you, Mrs Smith?’ He turned suddenly, his gleam closing down the space between them. ‘I may not approve of Lady Aurelia’s company this evening, but I do approve of her choice of diversion. Is the play to your liking?’
Phoebe stared at the sudden narrowing of his eyes, at the gold flecks glittering within, and felt every scrap of her previous confidence evaporate. And suddenly they weren’t in the theatre at all, but back on the banks of the muddy canal, exchanging furious looks that meant nothing and everything all at once. His hair was dishevelled and he was looking at her as though she was dredged up from the depths of the silt, and yet – there was a fire in his eyes that matched the thump in her chest, word for word, breath for breath.
She swallowed, feeling her tongue leaden, and her head pound. She felt sure he saw right through her, that perhaps he always had; but he’d addressed her as Mrs Smith, and she had no choice but to answer in kind. She clenched her fingers and dug deep.
‘It is – thank you, Viscount,’ she nodded, imitating Harriet’s prim manner as best she could. ‘Though I have to say that few young ladies I know would ever faint in such circumstances. In my experience, gentlemen are rarely without fault, and ladies are far more robust than they look.’
‘Indeed,’ he returned, the muscle in his cheek working overtime, ‘though I believe there is a fine line between the robustness you describe, and behaviour that is unacceptable in our polite world – behaviour such as that you demonstrated when last we met. In truth, I am somewhat surprised that the marchioness saw fit to let you accompany Lady Aurelia this evening. I had thought her sense of propriety far stricter!’
Phoebe felt her cheeks burn as she seethed inwardly, imagining all the ways she would like to remind the viscount that she didn’t care one jot for his opinions or archaic notions of propriety. Instead, she inhaled deeply, and promised herself this would be the very last time he ever had the opportunity to insult her.
‘Perhaps,’ she replied coldly, ‘if gentlemen were able to elevate their marital ambitions beyond behaviour and reputation, they might discover we are just as curious and capable as they are. But until that time, I suspect ladies will continue to fall into two distinct groups – those they marry, and those they misjudge!’
* * *
Phoebe waited by the backstage door in a state of bleak contemplation. How an unimpressive highwayman, an épée with a mind of its own, a calamitous picnic and a dubious, interfering viscount, could represent the sum total of her Bath adventures to this point – standing at the stage door of the Theatre Royal, asking for a seasoned actress by the name of Carlotta – was most dispiriting.
Her only consolation was that if at first the swarthy stage manager had looked ready to slam the door in her face, he’d changed his mind as soon as she mentioned the actress.
‘Well, you’re late,’ he muttered, looking her up and down. ‘But I s’pose there’s no harm done if you’re quick. Follow the corridor along to the girls, and Lotta will be waiting.’
Phoebe dived through, grateful to be free of his scent and lingering stare, even if his commentary seemed a little odd. She was also highly relieved to escape the auditorium. The viscount’s appearance had changed everything, and even though he’d taken his leave before the end of the interval, she now wished for nothing more than to collect Aurelia’s parcel and return home.
‘And no nicking anything, either!’ the stage manager called, as she hurried past an impressive array of wigs and swords.
Phoebe bristled on behalf of all widowed, bourgeois actresses everywhere, but felt it wisest not to respond.
It quickly transpired that following the corridor along was code for walking through every dressing area that existed backstage, and if the cast were at all shy of their performances, they certainly didn’t share the same reservations about their person.
‘What is it about officers?!’ she muttered exasperatedly as a second, half-dressed lieutenant attempted to thwart her progress.
‘You’re a pretty one!’ he said warmly, standing in her path. ‘Far too pretty for this motley regiment, and especially in that damson eye-catcher. Perchance you’re in need of some protection m’lady?’
Then he twirled his ridiculous moustache in the most affected way, before reaching forward to pinch her cheek. A ready flare of anger rose within her. This whole evening had been a disaster, and the last thing she needed was another mop-head thinking he could treat her as though she’d just wandered in from the street.
‘None at all – sir!’ she scowled, lifting the heel of her pretty boot, another loan from Sophie, and bringing it down quite deliberately on his stockinged foot.
To her great satisfaction, his face began to turn a similar shade to her dress, just as they were interrupted by a sullen, dark-eyed female.
‘Mary Smith?’ she called abruptly, silencing whatever curse he was about to drop. ‘Come on, we’ve only a few minutes ’til curtain’s up!’
Phoebe exhaled as the livid actor hopped away, and nodded. She was surprised Aurelia had given the waspish actress her name, but relieved to have found her quarry all the same.
‘Hurry now, there’s no time to waste, the dressing room’s just down here.’
Carlotta swept in front, all high drama and dressed hair – her silken robe not even close to covering her corset and petticoats – while Phoebe followed, feeling doubtful. Things weren’t going quite the way she’d expected, and she couldn’t begin to fathom how a barely dressed actress might be the answer to Aurelia’s situation. In truth, by the time they arrived in a bigger dressing area, filled with females in a similar state of undress, she’d begun to question whether she’d come to the right place at all.
‘Excuse me, you are Carlotta, are you not?’
At this, the entire room suddenly hushed, and looked at Phoebe.
‘’Ere, she’s a fancy one!’
‘I'll give yer sixpence if you let me borrow yer dress?’
‘Yes, of course!’ the dark-eyed actress returned sharply. ‘Now, here’s the poultice,’ she added, pulling a slim envelope from a hanging prop basket and passing it across. ‘It needs to be made like a tea, and you drink all of it.’
Her eyes narrowed as she glanced at Phoebe’s waist.
‘And I suggest you cancel any performances for at least a week! Course you probably know all this already, such is the price we actresses pay for entertaining, eh…?’
She paused to laugh raucously as Phoebe felt a dull flush creep up her neck. At least she understood why Aurelia had needed her to collect the poultice now. They all thought her a widowed actress, and she still felt a bit of muslin as Fred would say – a society debutante would create a scandal beyond all imagining.
She looked down at the small envelope and suppressed a scowl. Aurelia had been nothing but hostile since they’d met, but she was here now, and she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she also needed a friend more than anyone else she knew. Her brief, wistful moment in the theatre box flitted through her head, and she bit her tongue.
‘Now, as for payment… The costume is here and you need only stand in for the wedding scene. I’ll be back before Act Five, as Frank said…’
Phoebe stared blankly as Carlotta yanked a lacy wedding dress from a wooden rail, and dumped it on a chair, before walking briskly to unhook Phoebe’s own dress.
‘Wait!’ Phoebe protested, trying to wriggle out of her surprisingly strong grip. ‘I’m only here for the poultice ! I’m Mary Smith!’
‘We know who you are!’ Carlotta grinned. ‘Cousin to the one and only Sarah Siddons! Theatre royalty no less! We’re expecting big things of you, what wiv you having Kemble blood and all.’
She grinned before pulling off Phoebe’s cap and wig in one deft move.
‘That’s better, you ain’t an old maid no more! Now, luckily we’re about the same size so let’s get the costume on, and get you side stage. Rosa? Lucia? Give us a hand to hook her up… Now, there ain’t much to say as you’ve done Hero afore, but just make sure you keel over good and proper, you know how our audience loves a fainting!’
‘No, I said wait!’ Phoebe threw in a panic, twisting and grabbing hold of the hem of Sophie’s favourite dress before it disappeared for good. ‘There’s been a misunderstanding. I can’t fill in for you!’
‘What? You can’t back out now! Your friend told Frank you was an actress, that you trained with your cousin, and was highly proficient with a theatrical épée an’ all!’
Carlotta paused, her dark eyes narrowing.
‘She said Hero was your favourite role!’
Which was precisely the moment that Phoebe realised that Aurelia had said a lot more than she’d admitted. She pictured the viscount’s face if she stepped out on stage while he was watching, and the blood drained from her face.
‘There must be some other way!’ she returned fiercely, yanking on the hem of the dress, while Rosa and Lucia put up a significant fight with each of the puffed sleeves.
‘A deal is a deal!’ Carlotta countered. ‘This is my livelihood, and the boss will have me out on the street if I let him down. Now take the costume, or I’ll have to take back––’
‘I’m not going out on that stage,’ Phoebe hissed. ‘I’m not even the fainting type!’
Which was the precise moment that two very separate, yet distinct, things happened.
The first was that there was a resounding rip as Sophie’s favourite bodice parted company with her favourite skirt; and the second was that the room filled with the very last voice she wanted to hear in the world.
‘Do excuse my interruption, but I wonder if I might be of assistance, Mrs … Smith?’
Phoebe spun in disbelief, to find herself face to face with the condescending viscount, again – while she was in her petticoats, again.
‘Oh, Your Lordship, you should have said you was coming, I would have dressed up for the occasion!’ Carlotta purred, sashaying forward in a way that suggested she would have done exactly the opposite.
‘Thank you Carlotta, but I wasn’t planning on being here,’ he replied, halting her progress with a single glance. ‘It’s actually Mrs Mary Smith I’ve come to see, who I understand is under contract elsewhere, and therefore unable to take on any additional roles. Please pass on my apologies to all concerned. And, Mrs Smith, as patron of this theatre, I’m afraid I will have to escort you from the premises.’
‘Be my guest!’ Carlotta flared, her expression changing instantly. ‘She’s overrated! And overpaid! Her dress weren’t no common muslin, I can tell you!’
Enraged, she spun to collect up the pieces of Sophie’s dress and fling them at Phoebe, who scowled furiously, before clutching them close and fleeing the room.
‘Mrs Smith...’
The viscount’s call echoed down the empty corridor as Phoebe raced towards the backstage door. She had no desire to hear whatever searing judgement he had to impart, but was also starkly aware she was about to exit Bath Theatre Royal in her corset and petticoats, and without a penny to ensure her safe journey home.
Bracing herself, she forced herself to slow and turn to face the viscount, his cloak billowing behind like a sycophantic cloud of self-importance.
‘You can’t leave like that!’ he glowered, reaching to unhook his theatre cloak as he strode to catch up.
In the next breath, it was fixed snugly around her shoulders and she was being bundled out into the cold evening air.
‘I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, Miss Fairfax,’ he growled, as soon as the door closed behind them. ‘But this isn’t some roadside in Somerset, or even a canal-side in Sydney Gardens! If anyone else had recognised you, watched you going backstage, walked in on that fight between you and Carlotta… You’d be ruined! And why aren’t you ever fully dressed?!’
He paused to inhale deeply, his expression darkening into something she couldn’t quite read as he glanced down at her stays and scowled.
‘Why are you always looking over my shoulder?!’ Phoebe demanded, shaking with fury and chagrin. ‘You are not my guardian or my brother! How and with whom I spend my time is of no concern to you whatsoever!’
She wanted to say so much more, but that would also incriminate Aurelia, and even though she deserved no loyalty, Phoebe couldn’t expose her entirely. Instead, she slipped the poultice into her petticoat skirts, and watched the viscount’s eyes narrow to glittering jewels.
‘I have no desire to be either your guardian or brother!’ he forced intently. ‘Don’t you understand, you little fool? There is a vast difference between chasing adventure, and risking your reputation. And for what? Another parlour game? One of your damned heroic adventures? If anyone else had recognised you … or seen you … the rest of your life would be…’
He paused to catch his breath as a shard of moonlight fell between them.
‘It’s no good,’ he muttered, raking his hand through his hair, ‘you infuriate me to the point of all distraction, and I cannot trust what I am saying. It’s time you left, lest I do something we all regret.’